Page 9 of Praised By the Cornerback

I sit up a little straighter, caught off guard. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it’s true.”

“Yeah, but we’re rivals. You’re supposed to keep that shit to yourself and use it against me.”

Vega tilts his head slightly. “Or I could just say it. Give credit where it’s due.”

I snort, disbelieving. “Right. Sure.”

He’s quiet for a second. I push up off the bench, done with the conversation, but Vega stands too. He closes the distance in a few easy steps, backing me into the lockers until there’s nowhere left to go. He stops a breath away, closer than he needs to be.

“Why do you have so much trouble accepting compliments?” he asks.

I don’t answer. Can’t, really, because I don’t know what to say. My brain’s scrambling for something to deflect with, but it’s not cooperating.

Vega studies me, his gaze moving over my face like he’s reading it. And then he reaches up and brushes a loose strand of my damp hair off my forehead.

I freeze.

His fingers are warm against my temple, feather-light, and he lets them linger there for a second too long. My pulse kicks up, loud in my ears, and I can’t move or think.

“You don’t realize how incredible you are,” he says. He doesn’t rush the words or look away after, like he means them and won’t soften them for me.

Something in his voice gets to me. It’s low and certain, like he’s stating a fact instead of offering praise, and I feel it settle over me like a blanket.

I don’t know what’s happening. Just that I can’t look away from him, my breath’s gone shallow, and my brain won’t start working again.

My gaze drops to his lips. They’re slightly parted, soft-looking, and I wonder what it would feel like if—

No.

What the fuck?

But I can’t stop staring. My tongue flicks out, wetting my bottom lip, and Vega’s gaze follows it. His hand’s still near my face, not quite touching anymore, but close enough that I can feel the heat of it.

There’s noise in the corridor. Voices, footsteps getting closer.

Vega steps back just as the door swings open. Brooks and McKenna walk in, laughing about something, and the spell breaks.

I blink, disoriented, and focus on Brooks instead. He’s saying something to McKenna, and McKenna’s shaking his head, grinning.

“Where are you guys staying?” McKenna asks, glancing between me and Vega.

It takes me a second to process the question. “Uh. The Marriott. The one near the freeway.”

Vega looks at me a beat longer than he needs to, but he doesn’t say anything.

“We’re at the Hilton down the street,” Brooks says. “Want to grab drinks later? There’s a bar near our place that’s supposed to be decent.”

“Maybe,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say. My brain’s still trying to catch up to what just happened. Or almost happened.

Brooks nods, unfazed by my non-answer, and starts peeling off his shirt.

I stand and move to my locker, hands shaking as I pull off my own shirt. I don’t let myself look at Vega. If I do, I’m going to have to acknowledge what just happened, and I’m not ready for that.

I yank my shorts down, toss them into my bag, and grab a towel. My mind’s racing, replaying the moment over and over. His fingers against my skin, my whole body going still, and the way I stared at his lips. Jesus Christ.

I head toward the showers, keeping my eyes down, and step under the spray. The water’s cold at first, shocking, and I welcome it. Anything to clear my head.